


Dissolve

by neontiger55



Category: White Collar
Genre: Angst, Hate Sex, M/M, Season 4 Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-17
Updated: 2012-09-17
Packaged: 2017-11-14 10:51:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,110
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/514464
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/neontiger55/pseuds/neontiger55
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the aftermath of their fight, Neal tries to make things even.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dissolve

**Author's Note:**

> Tag to 'Gloves Off'.
> 
> A little darker than my usual. Many thanks to aisle_one for the beta and advice.

 

 

Neal didn’t allow himself time to hesitate and knocked hard on the glass panel of the door, rattling it in its frame. It was late, and the house was dark and quiet, but the upstairs windows were open to the night air, which was thick and heavy with the promise of rain. His body seemed to be trapped in the glare from the day, however, his blood surging through his veins with pronounced heat and energy, the friction channeling his vision to a sharp, narrow focus. In a rational state of mind, he would know that this is when he’s at his most vulnerable, his most dangerous.  
  
Peter’s apprehensive face came into view a moment or two later, colouring with relief as he laid eyes on him. Neal pushed past Peter as soon the lock clicked open, taking what hadn’t yet been offered. The living area and kitchen were unlit, only the glow coming from the city outside lending shape to the space; Elizabeth was away that night, Neal knew. He turned to face Peter, giving himself the advantage of having his back to the light.  
  
“Neal, hey.” Peter said his name in the same careful way as someone picking up shards of a broken wine glass. “I’m glad you came by, I was - ” he paused, uncertain, “ - can I get you anything?"  
  
Neal shook his head, Peter’s normal, everyday question riling him. Peter and his normal, everyday life, in a home that was always warm and where the cupboards were always full. The solid weight of a life of answered questions and reassurances standing behind his every move, a strange kind of innocence. Neal thought about Ellen’s promises, and Sam’s lies, and he stepped forward, crowding Peter’s space as though they were back circling each other in that boxing ring. He'd lost every fight today. Not even careful choreography could protect him from the hits levelled in plain sight.  
  
“Neal?”  
  
_I'm trying to protect you._  
  
His tie suddenly felt like a noose around his neck and his breathing quickened, harsh gulps that sounded startlingly loud in the quiet of Peter's house.   
  
Peter placed a hand on Neal's chest, the dark shadows across his face exaggerating his concern. Neal stepped closer, eyes falling shut. Carefully, Peter unraveled the thin slip of fabric from his collar and slid the top button of his shirt open. And somehow it was like Peter had struck a match, finally ignited the tension in Neal’s body; Neal kissed him forcefully, surging forward so that Peter’s back collided with the wall. It was nothing like it had been the first time - a quiet, tentative almost-touch - and that was the last thing Neal wanted now.  
  
But Peter stood there unmoving, his hand still on Neal’s chest, breathing heavily. Neal broke away and looked at him, ready for rejection or anger, but finding neither.  
  
“ _Neal_. We agreed - ”  
  
Neal kissed him again, desperate to climb out of his skin. He didn’t want to beg, or plead, or manipulate, he just wanted Peter to understand. So he didn’t say anything, just waited until Peter kissed him back, until his thumb and forefinger were forcing the remaining buttons of Neal’s shirt open as he found his balance. Peter turned them, easing Neal against the wall, his knee pushing between Neal’s legs as he stripped the fabric from his skin, fingertips trailing up his sides tenderly. Peter’s mouth followed his fingertips, then they were moving.  
  
They tumbled up the stairs, caught now in a momentum, shrugging away the rest of their clothes as they went. A cufflink pinged on the wooden floor, and someone’s belt fell with a jingling clatter. Neal was only distantly aware of being pushed forward onto a bed and the coolness of the sheets on his overheated skin. His focus was a pinpoint - Peter’s weight on his back, his lips on the nape of his neck, his careful fingers - rendering everything else obsolete. Neal knew Peter would take this as a reconciliation and not see it for what it really was and the silent deception gave him a perverse sense of power.  
  
Peter was working him open now, moving too slowly, too respectfully, and it was taking all of Neal’s self restraint not to rut against the bed. He pushed back and let out a frustrated breath as Peter pulled away. “Jesus, Peter. Just - I’m ready.”  
  
“No. You’re not.” Peter kissed a line across his hip placatingly, the way he liked, and slipped in another finger. Neal could hear the smile in his voice. “It’s ok.”  
  
Neal pressed his face into the sheets as Peter continued, knowing more protest would only show his hand. He softened under Peter, forced his body to relax into the lie. Everything ached: his jaw, his shoulders, his wrists, his chest; he wanted this to hurt too.  
  
Then, finally, Peter removed his fingers and Neal could feel the heat radiating from his skin as he hovered above, placing his hands either side of Neal’s shoulders. Peter’s knuckles were red and bruised, just like his, Neal realised - but the thread was lost as Peter pressed into him confidently, driving all coherent thought from his mind, like rivulets of water blown across a windscreen.  
  
Any reservations Peter might previously have had seemed to dissolve as need overtook him, and he thrust into Neal unrelentingly. Neal’s mind dropped out as his body shook. A hand on his back. Fingers in his hair. Teeth on his neck. Sweat shimmering on skin. It wasn’t long before he came in an agonised rush, reaching perfect, ecstatic blankness with a wordless shout.  
  
  
*  
  
After, he found he was still lying face down on the bed, Peter on his back beside him in the dark. He felt cold now, the breeze from the open windows flowing cruelly over his exposed skin, heat quickly receding from his body. Peter smiled and reached for him, the streetlight glinting off his wedding band, but Neal shrugged his hand away.  
  
“Neal?”  
  
He pulled a sheet around his waist as he sat up and searched for his clothes. “I have to go.”  
  
Peter sat up, and reached for him again, his open palm on the warm spot of the bed where Neal had just been. “You can stay.” It sounded like a question.  
  
Neal shook his head and continued dressing, avoiding Peter’s eye.  
  
“I thought we were ok,” Peter said, bitter realisation heavy in his voice.  
  
Neal paused and half turned to look at him, suspended somewhere between vindication and revulsion. He didn’t answer, just slipped quietly from the room, the afterimage of Peter’s betrayed expression flickering in his mind.  
  
These lines were too blurred, even for him.


End file.
